


every spring

by Imkerin



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Transfer Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-04 23:27:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6680218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imkerin/pseuds/Imkerin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco finds out in Sports Bild. Again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	every spring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mydrunkjoey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydrunkjoey/gifts).



Marco finds out in Sports Bild. Again.

At first there's nothing he can do but laugh, that sort of wretched half-laugh you get when something hurts so much it's almost funny, like all the air's been knocked out of you on a bad tackle and a worse landing and that's all that's left. It's that same kind of physical gut punch, because: _again._

"Bro?" Auba asks. 

The concern in his voice is strangely grounding; Marco knows, he _knows_ it's a stupid idea to rely on anyone else this much, but he can't help it, he lets himself lean on it, wishes dumbly that the bucket seats were less deep so he could lean on him for real. "Shit," he says, to clear his throat of the scratchiness he can feel coming up the back, and laughs again, just a little. His phone dims and goes off in his hand, even though it feels like it's been somewhere between ten seconds and ten years, not a minute. "Shit. Mats is signing for Bayern."

"Shit," Auba echoes, and guns it through a yellow light, screeching across the road like he's the one who shouldn't be driving and taking a sudden left. "What?"

"He asked them for it," Marco says without turning his phone back on, as if not looking at the big black headline will make it less real. "He wanted to go there." It's fucked up how it feels not real and too real all at the same time, the world's shittiest deja vu. He turns his phone over in his hands instead, so he won't be tempted.

Auba pulls them to a stop on the wrong side of the park. Someone's walking a dog in the distance, headed the other way, but otherwise it's just them.

He's still staring down at his hands when Auba clicks his seatbelt off and reaches out to touch his shoulder; just that, at first, then when Marco doesn't jerk away, Auba shifts over half out of his seat and pulls Marco into a slightly awkward sideways hug. "Hey, that fucking sucks," he says.

It startles another half-laugh out of Marco. "Yeah," he says, tossing the phone down into the footwell and resting his head back on Auba's arm to stare up at the ceiling instead. "Yeah, it fucking sucks."

Auba leans over further and presses his forehead against Marco's cheekbone. His hair tickles a little and his breath is warm on Marco's neck, and Marco thinks he's probably going to throw his back out or something stupid, just to put a cap on this morning, but he doesn't tell him to stop. It feels too good.

"You know I meant it," Auba says, after another endless minute. "Right? When I said I wasn't going to leave as long as you were here."

"I know," Marco says. He reaches up and runs his hand over the back of Auba's head, holding him in the weird-ass pretzel hug both because he wants to touch him and because he doesn't want Auba to look up and see he's lying. He traces out the star pattern shaved into his hair and wishes he wasn't.

"We could skip training," Auba offers, sounding almost serious, like he'd really do it if Marco said yes, but --

"I'm fine," Marco says, and pokes Auba in the side with his free hand, right where he's ticklish, making him yelp too loudly right under Marco's ear, which maybe wasn't the best plan in the world, but, well. He knocks the side of Auba's head with his own and lets go of him; by the time Auba rearranges himself well enough to catch his eyes, he actually feels -- well, if not fine, at least a decent attempt at fine. He can finish freaking out about this later, after they get shit done. "You have to get your toe looked at anyway, you can't skip."

"Fuck my toe," Auba says, solemnly. "Bro--"

"Not in _public."_

It takes Auba a second to catch up with the interruption but his surprised laugh is so perfect, his smile so wide that Marco feels for a minute like he could wrap himself up in it and use it as armor for the rest of the day. "I didn't know you were into that," he says, pulling an exaggeratedly scandalized face.

"Live and learn," Marco says, and because they _are_ in public, just reaches out and squeezes Auba's hand, quick and tight, instead of kissing him like he really wants to. "I'll be fine," he says. "I swear. As long as we're not late."


End file.
